


Dress Rhymes With Mess

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Crossdressing, Dating, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Sexual Crossdressing, Not Kink, POV Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12529940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Derek likes to wear dresses sometimes, and when Stiles finds out he doesn't react like Derek thought he would.





	Dress Rhymes With Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redeyedwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for Isaac, who is the BEST AND PRETTIEST BOY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :D :D
> 
> Betaed by the amazing Rita, without whom I would be half the writer I am now. <3
> 
> Note: Cora never popped up in this, which is why Derek is still an alpha, and events cut off somewhere around early s3. I'll be honest, I didn't think about it too hard. I had feels to write, sue me. Also, chapter breaks are for other people.

Derek slumps against the loft door as it finally slides closed behind him. He's exhausted. Not wounded, for once, just drained. Fae are manipulative little shitheads who like to play with people's minds – as well as being a proud and easily offended race – and of fucking course the first thing out of Scott's mouth had been: “Oh my god, Stiles, _fairies_!”

 

That had _not_ gone over well, and as a result they'd all been mind-fucked for a few hours before coming to a solution.

 

Derek probably got off easy. He used to spend most of his waking hours in the hell of his memories, his guilt and his sadness, so being flung back into them felt mostly tiring and frustrating. Like having to suddenly walk in shoes that never fit right, after having spent months in a new pair that are better. Still not right, but better.

 

So Derek had walked out of it subdued and tired, but Stiles... Stiles had been shaky and frail like spun glass, and had pushed them all away, even though they all knew very well that he was going to have panic attacks sooner or later.

 

But it was his choice. Contrary to what most people seem to think, Stiles can actually take care of himself, and... Derek trusts him to do that. To do a lot of things these days, if he's honest.

 

He finally pushes away from the door and drags himself into the shower. Once he feels like he can move again he shuts off the water and pads into his bedroom, to look through the drawer with his nightclothes in it. He shuts it without taking anything, though. Instead he finds a pair of comfy, well-worn boxer briefs and goes to his closet.

 

It's no secret what's in there, really. The betas knew, back before it all went to hell the sixth time over, because there are no secrets in wolf packs. And, despite their human beginnings, no one cared. They all did what they had to do to get by, and Derek's isn't ashamed of it. It's just private, like so many other things in his life.

 

He slowly picks his way through his few choices, going mostly by the feel of fabrics. He used to have a lot more. Before they all burned. But he's starting to buy more again, and he has enough now that he spends almost a full minute before making his choice.

 

The dress is soft, sleek and velvety, and as soon as he feels the wine-red fabric snug on his shoulders they immediately un-clench. Maybe it's the comfort of habit or just pure, physical sensation, but, whatever it is, it just makes Derek feel good. Always has.

 

It's not that he wants to be a woman. He definitely doesn't want to wear dresses all the time, because – as nice as they are – they're just not practical.

 

But it just feels so incredibly good to put them on, for various reasons. This one is his favorite lounging dress, because it's soft and a little heavy, and drapes so nicely even on his masculine shape. He has others that are stiffer and classier, for when he wants to feel a little pretty, and even bought a few pieces of lingerie for when he wants to go all out.

 

The skirt folds and swirls around his bare calves as he finds some socks, and he can already feel himself unwind when he makes his way slowly back downstairs to the kitchen area to make himself a cup of tea. A few hours on the couch with a book, relaxing in his comfy dress, sipping sweet tea... yeah, he's gonna be fine.

 

He hears it when he's steeping the tea; the cough and sputter of the Jeep coming closer.

 

Stiles doesn't know about this side of Derek. Probably. In truth, Derek wouldn't be surprised if he did suss it out somehow. But, whatever the case, Derek isn't ashamed of it. And while he'd hoped he wouldn't have to deal with any more surprises today, he makes the choice then to not go and change. He takes out another mug instead, and finds more tea.

 

The second mug is almost done steeping by the time he's followed Stiles' rabbity heartbeat all the way to the front door, and he doesn't look up as it slides open without even a damned knock, because Stiles is rude like that. Also probably because he knows Derek can hear him coming, and that he will take measures if he doesn't want company. Not that he's ever actually taken any of those measures, which probably warrants some introspection at some point.

 

Stiles stops mid-way through sliding the door shut again, and Derek focuses on the tea. Usually Stiles will come in already talking, but today was bad, and he hasn't even offered a greeting. Now Derek is adding another unexpected element to the day, and he feels bad for about as long as it takes for Stiles to gather himself and shut the door.

 

“Tea. Nice,” he says, and takes the mug Derek hands him. Still not looking at him, Derek notices his hands instead. They're shaking on the mug, and Derek reaches out to put one of his own on top to steady them, and guide the quivering mug back to the counter top.

 

They both look up then, and Derek meets Stiles' gaze calmly. The gears are obviously turning in his head, but there's no mocking. Or even lust, which seems to be the default setting for Stiles whenever he's faced with the unexpected, because he has a very strange concept of danger.

 

“So,” Stiles croaks, clenching his hands around the mug. “That's new.”

 

Derek shrugs. “Not really.”

 

“Huh.”

 

They both sip tea, cooling it with synchronized breaths, and Derek waits. He knows Stiles isn't done yet, and he'd rather they get it over with so he can find his book and relax.

 

“Looks... comfy,” Stiles says eventually.

 

“It is.”

 

There's another long pause, and Derek is getting slowly annoyed the longer he has to stand here, and any moment now he's just gonna leave Stiles to his thoughts.

 

“I don't suppose you have another one lying around? Pretty sure it'd fit me better than your dumb sweatpants.”

 

Not sure if it's meant as teasing, Derek snorts. “You could just bring your own.”

 

“I'm a college student, Derek. In what universe does that tell you I'd have clean _anything_ lying around?”

 

“And you want me to offer you clean clothes because you're too lazy to do laundry?”

 

“Too busy, you mean. And, yes.”

 

Still not sure if it's meant as some kind of challenge, Derek decides to just play along. It might just be part of Stiles' pattern of dealing with the unexpected; fuck it, fight it, or roll with it.

 

“Shower first,” Derek grumbles, and trudges upstairs to find another towel. Stiles waits only long enough to down about half his tea, definitely burning his tongue, before following Derek up the circular staircase.

 

While Stiles is in the bathroom Derek goes back to his closet, pondering. Whether Stiles is being serious or not, Derek is going to find him something nice. He decides on an impulse purchase he did a while back when there was a sale, and they only had a size smaller than his usual preference. The horizontal black and white stripes and slim look isn't really the most flattering on Derek's broad torso, his bulk stretching the solid black until it's bordering on gray, but he still likes it sometimes, just to lounge around in. Or sleep in. It'll be loose on Stiles, but it should do, so he lays it out on his bed and goes back downstairs.

 

While he waits, he makes Stiles a fresh cup of tea, enjoying the sensation of moving around in a dress, clinging and wrapping around him in all the comforting ways. When there's the sound of bare feet on the stairs, Derek looks up and sees Stiles coming down wearing the other dress.

 

“Okay, so this is probably not gonna be a habit for me, but I gotta hand it to you, dude, it really is comfy.” The color is back in Stiles' cheeks, and he's stopped shaking. Derek nods at him in approval.

 

“Doesn't look too bad on you.”

 

“Well, it's not like the stripes are gonna direct attention to my problem areas or anything,” Stiles says with a smirk, and follows Derek to the couch. Even if he means it as a joke, he's right. His slim frame and broad shoulders are an unexpectedly good fit for the cut and pattern of the dress.

 

Derek picks up his book, and Stiles turns on the TV Derek only has because Stiles nagged him until he got one. Stiles is also the reason there's a fluffy blanket over the back of the couch, and he takes his time getting comfortable, tucking it around his bare feet. He glances from Derek's socks to his face.

 

“You want in on this?” he asks, gesturing to the blanket, but Derek shakes his head.

 

“I'm good.” And he is. With one foot on the floor, his other leg resting on the couch, soft fabric draping wonderfully over his thighs, and his back leaning into the corner of the couch, he's exactly where he wants to be, the noise of the TV a comfortable background hum. Stiles rests against the other end of the couch, and his feet eventually make their way to Derek's thigh, squirming under it, blanket and all, while he chatters away about whatever's on TV that Derek couldn't care less about.

 

“My mom had a dress kinda like this,” Stiles says suddenly, and Derek lowers the book.

 

“I mean, the stripes went the other way, and it didn't have sleeves but...” he trails off, and Derek waits, knowing that prompting won't make a difference. Stiles talks if and when he wants to, which generally means _all the time._ But, even then, Derek's opinion to _shut up, Stiles_ doesn't matter in the least.

 

“This is nice,” Stiles says finally. “Thanks, Derek.”

 

“You're welcome,” Derek says sincerely, and goes back to his book while Stiles finds his own comfort in yelling at idiots on the screen.

 

* * *

 

It's not a conscious choice, but, after that night Derek finds himself wearing his dresses around Stiles a lot more. When he takes a moment to think about it he does wonder if maybe he's been subconsciously holding back to avoid Stiles' particularly obnoxious brand of mocking, but there's also the fact that their little hang-out session with tea and skirts has somehow steered them in a new direction. Where, exactly, Derek isn't sure. All he knows is that the prospect of Stiles showing up at the loft is somehow less irritating now, and – though he could be imagining things – it kinda feels like their habitual banter is taking on a fonder note.

 

As for the dresses, Stiles doesn't ask to borrow one again, and he also doesn't remark on Derek wearing them. So Derek assumes Stiles is taking his familiar route of ignoring things he doesn't want to face or don't know what to do with, and that's fine with Derek.

 

But then _that_ new state of affairs shifts too.  
  


They're out shopping – _together_ – and Derek isn't even sure how he got roped into coming along. Scott's birthday is coming up, evidently, and Stiles seems determined to educate him on proper pop culture by buying him some graphic tees.

 

Derek honestly doesn't care enough about Scott these days to even send him a happy birthday text, much less buy him a gift, so he pokes through some piles of clearance clothing while Stiles deliberates on t-shirts. Something soft and slick touches Derek's hand, and he carefully disentangles it to find a satin skirt that feels incredible flowing across his hands. The color is nice too, a deep forest green that looks good against his skin, and he spends a long time just looking and touching his fill without thinking further than that.

 

“Hey, that would look great on you,” Stiles' voice says suddenly next to him, and Derek turns to raise an eyebrow at him.

 

“What?” Stiles asks defensively. “It would. Is it your size?”

 

“Sizing for women's clothing is determined by planetary alignment, so I have no idea,” Derek mutters, but he does hold it up to eyeball it, because now that Stiles has put the idea in Derek's head he really wants to own it.

 

“Looks about right. Why don't you go try it on? I'm giving up on the whole t-shirt thing, because let's face it, Scott is never gonna watch Star Wars or care about internet memes as long as there are cute girls he can impress and dogs he can walk,” Stiles chatters, and points vaguely towards another section of the store. “I'm gonna look around over there for other ideas, and it might take a while, so...” He trails off, and while Derek can't hear a lie he gets the distinct impression that Stiles already knows what he's gonna buy, but is giving Derek time to shop.

 

There's a tense moment where Derek considers whether he wants to do this with Stiles here. It's not embarrassment. Derek has always bought dresses for himself without letting any odd stares bother him, and most sales-people are happy enough to help him find what he needs for himself, as long as they get to put another sale on their record. But this is still new territory for when Stiles is around, and Derek is worried. He can't quite figure out about _what_ , but he is.

 

“Okay. Sure,” he says eventually, and Stiles quirks a brief smile at him before wandering off. Derek checks the size again before heading for a changing room, and wonders what to wear with it. He usually prefers full dresses, but he already knows that if the skirt fits he's gonna buy it, so he ends up browsing for tops briefly before trying it on. Tops are difficult, though, because while his waist is slim enough for women's sizes his upper body is generally too bulky. So while he does hope, he doesn't expect to find anything, and he's proven correct. He eventually just goes to try the skirt on, before Stiles gets bored and comes back to bother him.

 

The skirt looks great. It falls almost to his ankles, and it flows delightfully when he moves. His gray Henley looks cheap and dull paired with the satin, though, and Derek spends almost a full minute being annoyed at the uneven look.

 

“Uh... Derek?” Stiles' voice calls outside the curtain, and Derek sighs at being forced to leave already. Though it _was_ nice of Stiles to give him a chance to buy something at all.

 

“I'll be right out.”

 

“Well, uh, okay, but... if you want... ugh, this is dumb,” Stiles mutters, and Derek is intrigued enough to pull the curtain open, and fix Stiles with a questioning look.

 

“What?”

 

Stiles squirms, something black scrunched in his hands as if to hide it. “It's... nothing, never mind-”

 

“What is it, Stiles?” Derek asks in his most world-weary tone, because whatever it is it's clearly bothering him, so they might as well get it over with now, rather than have Stiles explode with it later.

 

“Okay, okay, just... feel free to tell me to go fuck myself or whatever, but... I saw this and thought it might look good on you too,” he says hurriedly and holds out the black fabric for Derek to take. It turns out to be a sheer, elastic lacy top with v-neck and long sleeves. And a little finger loop for each hand too, almost like thumbholes, but for the middle finger. Derek holds it out, gives it a long, considering look, and he has to agree. It might look good on him. _And_ go well with the skirt.

 

“Want me to try it on?” Derek asks, just to make sure they're on the same page, and Stiles flails his hands around a little before getting a hold of himself.

 

“Yes? I mean, if you want to, I don't know what kinda stuff you like, and if you don't like it at all I can put it back-”

 

“I like it.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles says, and abruptly stops fidgeting. “Oh, okay. Then... go try it on, I guess.” He has an oddly soft smile on his face, and Derek turns away, not knowing what to do with that.

 

It's quick work getting out of his Henley, and the top doesn't feel scratchy at all like lace usually does. Whatever elastic blend it's made of feels smooth against his skin, and it's oddly satisfying to ease his fingers through the loops.

 

“It is... any good?” Stiles asks, just as Derek is testing his movement, and before he can question it too much he flings the curtain open so Stiles can see for himself.

 

It's really quite gratifying how Stiles' jaw drops as his eyes take a slow, almost awed journey down the entire length of Derek's body, and it's flattering in a way Derek isn't at all prepared for. He feels hot in the face, for fuck's sake. Though that doesn't stop him from doing a slow turn to show off. “How does it look?”

 

“ _Damn_ ,” Stiles says, and Derek honestly couldn't ask for higher praise from Stiles than a single-word answer like that.

 

“Good,” Derek says smugly, feeling a rare burst of self-satisfaction as he goes back inside the changing room to give himself another look in the mirror before changing back into his jeans. He does look good. The top is sheer, but the pattern in the lace blends really well with his chest hair, and the neckline allows more room for his pecs and shoulders without looking stretched or weird. He really likes it, and leaves the shop feeling better about himself than he has in months.

 

Stiles leaves the shop empty-handed, but, as he lets Derek out of the Jeep back at the loft, he sends him a soft sort of smile and says: “see you,” in a way that sounds almost hopeful to Derek's ears.

 

He decides to wear the outfit next time Stiles comes over.

 

Before that happens, though, he ends up having some doubts, because he gets the thought, suddenly, that maybe Stiles is seeing it as something kinky. Which it isn't. Not for Derek, anyway, and he doesn't want the few people who know this about him to see it that way either.

 

But by the time Stiles does come over to find Derek wearing the top and skirt, all Derek can see and smell on him is happiness and – Derek hesitates to call it that, but – affection. Stiles seems genuinely happy for him, and that warrants a small crisis for Derek all on its own, because his life is just _that_ depressing.

 

* * *

 

Derek isn't ashamed of his crossdressing. He doesn't even feel like it can be _called_ that, because it's not like he dresses to look like a woman. He wears dresses because they're comfortable and because he likes how they look on him, and he was lucky enough to grow up in a family where he was free to explore that part of himself without issue. Besides, he thinks it's stupid that clothes are gendered at all.

 

But he does prefer to keep his habit private. Not because he's bothered by what people think, because he's lost too much to care one shred about what some stranger might believe about him. No one can possibly look at him and know even half of what he's been through. But he _does_ get annoyed at top speed if people stare at him or make rude comments, and he doesn't want his comfort tainted by always being accompanied by bad moods. He wants to be able to relax in his dresses, so he keeps it mostly to himself.

 

Letting Stiles in on it means getting a lot more attention about it than Derek is used to, but he can't actually say he dislikes it. So he soaks up every casual compliment on his outfits, often followed by a warm, affectionate smile, and lets himself add something positive to the experience for once.

 

As it turns out, that was apparently only the beginning.

 

Stiles calls Derek one night, and asks: “what are you doing on Thursday?” without even saying hello, because that's apparently for _other_ people.

 

“Same as always. Peeing on trees and howling at the moon.”

 

“You said it, not me,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear the grin in his voice. “But if you get tired of prowling the territory and whatnot, I have a proposition for you.”

 

“Do tell.” Derek expects to be asked for the usual. A lift to the mechanic if the Jeep has died again. Or a trip to a bookstore where Stiles can somehow convince Derek to pay for everything. Or maybe even just get Derek to buy alcohol for him. That last one is gonna get a hard no like always, because Stiles waited this long, he can handle another year until twenty-one.

 

Anything else, however? Derek has pretty much already penciled off Thursday for Stiles in his mental dayplanner.

 

“Well, if you're up for some R&R, how about a hike and a picnic?”

 

Silence falls heavy and awkward after that, because Derek isn't sure what he was just asked. It feels like being asked on a date.

 

“You don't hike,” is what Derek ends up saying, because of all the things Stiles could suggest for them to do on a possibly-date, hiking would not even be in the top ten of Derek's guesses. Or the top fifty, for that matter.

 

“I do hike! I mean, I walk! It's the same thing! Walking! Outside! In all the... nature and stuff. It's good for you.”

 

“Right,” Derek says, unconvinced.

 

“And... if you feel like being _comfy_ out there in the woods... with no people in it, you know, you can... be that,” Stiles concludes awkwardly, and Derek smiles to himself. Because while this is a newer development too, at least this one doesn't throw him so much for a loop.

 

“I can, can I?”

 

“Yep! So if that's a yes to the hike, how about we meet at the trails sometime before lunch. Eleven-ish?”

 

“Sure. Should I bring something?”

 

“Yourself and your great legs were implied,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear the grin again. What a smartass.

 

“I meant food-wise, Stiles.”

 

“Whatever you want. I'm probably gonna bring some sandwiches and sodas or something.”

 

“Okay. I'll think of something. See you Thursday?”

 

“Yup! See ya!”

 

Stiles hangs up, and Derek stares at his phone for a while, because he's still not entirely sure what just happened. But, then again, it seems like that's becoming a new habit in their relationship, Stiles dragging Derek into things without him realizing it until they're in the middle of whatever it is.

 

But rather than spend hours pondering something he knows he won't find an answer to, he instead goes to his closet to find out what would be good to wear for a trip to the woods.

 

Thursday dawns, and Derek realizes as he's getting ready to leave that he's actually looking forward to the day. It's not that he hates spending time with Stiles or anything, it's just that so often it's been accompanied by fear, maiming or death. Spending time together for purely pleasant purposes is just... weird, and frankly Derek doesn't trust it'll last. But he's still excited about the day, and smiles to himself as he gets dressed.

 

When he pulls up at the designated parking for hikers in the preserve he finds Stiles already there waiting for him, leaning casually against the Jeep with a backpack at his feet. Derek hops out of his car in his airiest summer dress and hiking boots, pausing to take out his own backpack, and only then realizes that Stiles is staring.

 

“What?” Derek asks, feeling annoyance creep in, because he'd thought the whole point was to be able to wear what he wanted without judgment.

 

“Oh! Oh, nothing, just... I just... sort of assumed you'd change in the woods or something.”

 

“Why?”

 

Stiles shifts awkwardly. “Well... I guess I just assumed that since I didn't even know about it until recently that maybe you didn't want strangers to know?”

 

A couple of other hikers exit a trail as if on cue, and one of them gives Derek a weird look before moving on.

 

Derek shrugs, and puts on his backpack. “I don't care if people know. I just get annoyed when people stare at me. No matter the reason.”

 

Stiles nods and follows Derek's example, donning his own backpack. “Okay, your choice. And for the record, you look great, dude.”

 

It's not like Derek has never been complimented on his looks before, or even his dresses, but he still finds himself going hot in the face. He shoves it down, though, determined not to think too hard about it.

 

“I know,” he says breezily, leading the way down the nearest trail, and Stiles snorts behind him.

 

“Smug asshole.”

 

Derek just smiles to himself.

 

As expected, Stiles doesn't last very long. He's a decent sprinter; running for his life in panicked bursts on a semi-regular basis made him develop that skill just fine. But he's just not a great hiker, and Derek subtly slows down as Stiles begins to pant and sweat. The weather is nice, and it's sunny above the trees, so it's no skin off Derek's teeth to wander slowly down the familiar paths of his childhood in a nice dress. Eventually he stops Stiles just to take his heavy backpack too, ignoring his protests, but things do go slightly more smoothly after that. They stop briefly a few times to have water and catch their breaths, but mostly Derek just keeps going until they reach a lookout point he remembers loving as a kid. He can't help but speed up as they approach, and he ends up spending several minutes alone, just enjoying the view, before Stiles drags himself up the path, wheezing and gasping.

 

“ _Rude_. Rude, Derek, no using wolf skills,” he grits out while clutching his side.

 

“I'm not.”

 

“Lies.”

 

“You're just not a hiker,” Derek says, and Stiles points an accusing finger at him.

 

“Neither are you. Hence: wolf skills. _Cheater_.”

 

Derek can't help but chuckle as he takes off the backpacks and drops them on the ground. “Stiles, I run every morning.”

 

“That's running, not hiking,” Stiles argues, and collapses on his back on the ground.

 

“Semantics. Still good for building stamina.”

 

Stiles points at him again, more weakly this time. “If that was a dig at my abilities in bed, I'd just like to point out that I've gotten no complaints.”

 

“It wasn't. But thanks for oversharing.”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

Derek digs out a blanket from his own backpack, because it feels like the kind of thing Stiles might forget to bring, and he doesn't want to sit on dirt in his nice dress. When Stiles realizes what he's doing, however, he hauls himself off the ground and gets out a blanket of his own, spreading it on top of Derek's for a softer surface.

 

“Nice,” Derek says, and raises his eyebrows at all the food Stiles then brings out. No wonder his backpack was so heavy.

 

“It only occurred to me, like, yesterday that I don't actually know what you like, so I brought all kinds of stuff,” Stiles explains as he reveals a veritable smorgasbord of food, including quite a few of Derek's favorite things, so despite what Stiles says he must have _some_ idea about Derek's preferences.

 

It's weirding him out in the same way anything unexpectedly nice does. Nice things don't tend to happen to him. But it's hard to keep up the paranoia and cynicism when sunlight is warming his bare calves and wind is toying with his skirt. He accepts a bottle of iced tea that isn't remotely cold anymore, and a sandwich with too much mayo from Stiles' eager hands, and somehow it's just... nice.

 

“Thank you,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles uncharacteristically only replies with a small smile.

 

Only a minute or later, however, he's running his mouth like always, and Derek spends the day feeling at peace in a way he hasn't in years.

 

* * *

 

In the days following the hike Derek feels incredibly mellow, to a point where he doesn't feel even a shred of his usual annoyance when Stiles calls. Not even when his purpose is something frustrating or demanding on Scott's behalf, because at least that's comfortingly familiar. It's only when Stiles calls him to ask him to a movie night that Derek's paranoia flares up again.

 

“Why?” he asks, and Stiles sputters down the line.

 

“Because it's nice! You know... _nice_? Like the hike? People do nice things, Derek!”

 

“ _You_ don't.”

 

“First of all, that's a blatant lie. I do plenty of nice things. Just... only for people who deserve it.”

 

“Are you saying that I-”

 

“ _Second_ of all, I meant that in the sense of people hanging out and stuff. People like to do nice things! Well, _normal_ people do, I'm not sure about brooding creatures of the night.”

 

“I'm not a vampire, Stiles. And you're not normal,” Derek points out. Both to be obnoxious, but also because it's true.

 

“Hey, I'm more normal than you!”

 

“You're a _spark_. You make stuff happen just by believing in it. You could theoretically conjure up Santa Claus on a whim. And _I'm_ the weird one?”

 

It's quiet on the line for so long that Derek would think Stiles hung up if he couldn't hear his heartbeat.

 

“Is there any possibility that you won't laugh your ass off if I tell you that I actually forgot about being a spark?”

 

Derek wants to mock, he really does. But with everything that's happened, and everyone they've lost, he can't blame Stiles for losing focus on a few things. “There's a possibility, yes.”

 

There's another pause before Stiles clearly just decides to power on. “Okay! Right, then! As a thank you or a bribe or whatever, how about you drop by my place at nine-ish tomorrow, wear your best jeans or dress according to your preference. I'll even let you pick any movie you want... from the Star Wars or Indiana Jones franchises.”

 

There's definitely some ulterior motive going on with all the dress stuff, but Derek doesn't feel like it's malicious – for once in his life – so he rolls with it. “You just have a crush on Harrison Ford, don't you.”

 

“Can't prove a thing, see you tomorrow, bye!”

 

Derek shakes his head at the phone, and he feels like he should hate the smile on his face, but he doesn't.

 

Dammit.

 

* * *

 

“You just _had_ to pick Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, didn't you,” Stiles grumbles.

 

Derek tosses a corn chip into his mouth with a grin. “You said I could pick.”

 

“And I'm regretting that _so_ hard. There's a reason I don't even own this movie, Derek. It's awful!”

 

“It's _fun_. There's no need to take everything so seriously.”

 

Stiles turns on the couch to stare at him. “Were you replaced by an alien? _Not take things seriously?_ I'm not kidding, are you a pod person, Derek!? Are you from outer space? Is that where this chill, dress-wearing, laid-back new-you came from?”

 

Derek chews slowly, and debates with himself whether he should just tell Stiles to shut up or actually offer an answer. He feels like they're reaching a point where maybe a little openness would be a good thing, rather than an invitation to hurt Derek more, because life just has it out for him.

 

“Well. I always did the dress thing.”

 

Stiles blinks. “What, really?”

 

“Yeah. I remember Laura bought me a dress I wanted for my tenth birthday. It had a million frills on it and poofy sleeves. I looked like a marshmallow. My sense of fashion wasn't that great yet.”

 

The noise Stiles makes is like a choking squirrel. “Ohhh my god, that mental image is too adorable to handle! Are you trying to kill me?!”

 

“If I'd known it only took cute childhood memories I would have tried it a lot sooner,” Derek jokes, and Stiles sticks his tongue out at him rather than offering a retort. “What I'm saying is that it's nothing new. And I was always chill too. It's just not easy remembering it when people keep dying around you,” he mutters, and the forceful swallow of Stiles' throat next to him is loud like a gunshot.

 

“Yeah. I hear ya,” Stiles says after a while, and stuffs his mouth full of chips.

 

Quiet descends, and it should feel awful, both of them sitting there remembering the people they lost and all the shit they went through, but – to Derek, at least – it feels like a rapidly fading memory. As if the horrible past just can't keep up with the pleasant mood between them, sitting there in Stiles' childhood bedroom watching movies.

 

Derek can't think of anyone else he'd feel comfortable like this with, and it occurs to him that he probably wouldn't even have gotten this far without Stiles' recent overtures, and suddenly the thought won't let go of Derek.

 

“Why... why are you doing this?” he asks after a while of it gnawing at him, and Stiles frowns.

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Whatever it is you're doing? The hike? This?”

 

Stiles' mouth moves soundlessly, and his face goes through a whole range of expressions before settling on something vaguely embarrassed. He fidgets for a while, as if gathering his courage, and Derek waits him out.

 

“Look... don't kill me, alright?”

 

“No promises,” Derek says, mostly out of habit. He's pretty sure that there's nothing mean about it, whatever it is.

 

Stiles bites his lip, and Derek can't help but track the movement with his eyes. “Okay, well. It was after the thing with the fae. When I crashed at your place and found out about the whole dress thing?”

 

“Yeah? And?”

 

“Well, uh. I don't think I've ever seen you so... relaxed? No, that's not the right word. More like... you were at home in your skin or something. Whatever it was, I guess I just... I dunno, I guess I wanted to see you like that more.” He falls silent, and Derek studies his profile while the movie plays. Stiles' eyes are on the screen, but he's definitely not watching.

 

Derek wants to ask why Stiles would even care, but he realizes suddenly that he's a little afraid of the answer. So he pulls his own eyes away, force them back to the screen, and decides to book an extra hour with his therapist that week.

 

They watch the rest of the movie in silence.

 

* * *

 

Stiles keeps doing it. Calling Derek to go places. Sometimes just for groceries, but always with the unsubtle invitation to wear what he likes. Derek decides to take it for the positive gesture it feels like it is, and not worry too hard about it.

 

In return Derek lets Stiles talk his head off about whatever he wants. It feels like the least Derek can do when Stiles goes out of his way to make sure Derek is comfortable. It's not like it's any real skin off Derek's teeth either. He comes to realize fairly quickly that as long as Stiles isn't rambling about something trying to kill them or about what someone – usually Derek – is doing wrong, then he's actually quite soothing to listen to. A few times Stiles cuts himself off and gives Derek a weird look, obviously wondering why he hasn't told him to shut up yet. But since there's no reason to, Derek just smiles at him and sometimes gestures at him to go on if he's talking about something interesting. Which he often is. It's actually slightly concerning just how many interests it turns out they have in common.

 

“I can't believe you gave me shit about my shirt when you're a secret Mets fan,” Stiles grumbles when the topic of baseball comes up.

 

“I gave you shit because it's an ugly shirt. And I can be a fan without worshipping their horrendous team colors.”

 

Stiles gasps and points a stern finger at him. “You take that back.”

 

“Just saying it like it is,” Derek says with a shrug, and moves his rook. Stiles claims to be trying to teach Derek to play chess, but Derek suspects it's just an excuse to see how fast he can put some poor schmuck in checkmate. It's okay, though, Derek is actually fine with losing. Besides, he didn't argue when Stiles decided to teach him, which means he also didn't tell Stiles that he already knows how to play chess. He figures in a few losses he'll have a decent idea of how Stiles plays, and be ready to thoroughly humiliate him. It's the little things in life.

 

“Just you wait, for your birthday I'm buying you a Mets dress, you'll see.”

 

“Only if you want me to burn it.”

 

“Fine. I'll take you to a game instead,” Stiles says distractedly, pondering his next move. “Too bad wearing a dress there would probably get you beat up.”

 

“I can wear jeans, you know. It's not like I want to wear dresses all the time,” Derek says, and sees an opening when Stiles moves his queen in for what he thinks is an easy kill.

 

“Yeah, but why would you willingly hang out with me if you couldn't do the dress thing?”

 

Stiles doesn't even look up from the board, but Derek immediately forgets what he was about to move. Because he knows the answer to this, and he can't fathom how he didn't think about it before. It's not about the dresses. It might have been a factor, at first, but even before Stiles' mission to let Derek wear dresses more even started, Derek was already feeling more at ease with Stiles. Hell, he's always liked Stiles, but circumstance always put them at odds, and before now they were never free to just hang out. But apart from the fae incident there's barely been anything out to get them in almost two years. Stiles has been tending his community college and Derek has been healing. The rest of the pack is pretty much scattered, because Scott's alpha skills are practically non-existent, and he also seems determined to reject his wolf side as much as possible.

 

Not that Derek is much better, because after losing Boyd and Erica, and after Isaac choosing Scott, Derek decided that being a lone alpha was just safer for everyone. So no one is doing what they're supposed to in Beacon Hills anymore, and Derek is done trying to do things the traditional way.

 

“Because I like you,” he says, and lets Stiles win for the fifth time. He's cheering over his victory before the words apparently register and he stops dead.

 

“What?”

 

“I hang out with you because I like you. Not because of the dress thing,” he clarifies, because he feels like it can't hurt. Stiles stares at him in such a state of slack-jawed shock, though, that Derek ends up feeling uncomfortable, and focuses on adjusting his skirt over his knees. It's the green one again, and it feels really good against his legs without making him feel exposed when he sits cross-legged on Stiles bed like this. Running around half naked somehow doesn't feel nearly as revealing as his skirt slipping up to show his boxers.

 

“Why?” Stiles says eventually.

 

Derek looks up at him, eyebrow raised. “Why does anyone like anyone?”

 

Stiles flails around so hard the chessboard almost slides off the bed, the pieces toppling all over the covers. “You never liked me, though!”

 

“I liked you fine as a person. We were just always arguing, and you were constantly wrong about things.”

 

“I was n-”

 

“You called me a murderer.”

 

“... okay, fair point. But still. I'm not fishing for compliments or anything, but.... but why?!”

 

Derek shrugs, and fiddles with his finger loop sleeves. “You're funny, smart, you like some of the same things I do. You don't try to kill me or hurt anyone I care about? Do I need more reasons than that?”

 

“No, but come on. I'm... annoying! You've said so yourself!”

 

“You're annoying when you call for something Scott can't be bothered to do himself, or when you wake me up at four a.m. because you're on a research binge and forget that other people sleep. And you were annoying as a teenager in general, but a lot of people are,” Derek explains.

 

Stiles still looks like he's trying and failing to absorb it all, eyes blinking slow and huge at Derek. “So... what- are you saying we're friends now?”

 

That hurts, frankly. “You don't think we were friends before? Do you invite all your enemies to borderline romantic hikes in the woods? And do you think I'd let people I hate drop in at weird hours and wear my clothes? Even if I was that magnanimous I'm a _wolf_ , Stiles.”

 

“I know, I just... I thought that was a pack thing? You know, through Peter and Scott or whatever?”

 

“Maybe if you were Scott's beta or emissary that would apply. But you're not connected by blood in any way, so no. I trust you. No, I didn't use to, I know,” Derek says, before Stiles can argue. “But I have for a while.”

 

Stiles stares at him for a while longer, but then quirks a tiny smile. “I trust you too.”

 

“I know,” Derek says, because he can't not.

 

“Prick,” Stiles huffs, and then changes the subject. But he doesn't stop smiling even though Derek kicks his ass in chess three times. And when they say goodbye for the night Stiles looks for a moment like he's considering going in for a hug, but stops himself. As Derek heads home he finds he wouldn't mind a hug next time. Not at all.

 

* * *

 

Derek hears Stiles from about a mile away as usual, but startles when he knocks on the door instead of just coming in, and then _waits for Derek to get up and open it_. He sends Stiles his best raised eyebrow when the door slides open, and Stiles throws out his hands.

 

“Look, I'm trying, okay! Politeness or boundaries, or whatever,” he says as he comes in, and Derek rolls his eyes.

 

“This was never a boundary. Maybe if I didn't hear you coming ten minutes beforehand, but...”

 

Stiles grimaces, but then nods. “Okay, right, yeah. But you should totally let me know if I'm somehow stepping on your toes. Seeing as we're friends and everything, I wanna, you know. Be a good one.”

 

“You are,” Derek says, mildly confused. He's aware that Stiles is an acquired taste for most people, but so is Derek. They're both damaged in various ways, which is why Derek is a lone alpha and Stiles is still living at home and attending community college instead of moving to another state and starting a new life. They all have their issues.

 

“But still. There's, like... room for improvement, I think.”

 

“You want the number for my therapist?”

 

Stiles huffs, and shuffles awkwardly while Derek moves to the kitchen to get Stiles a soda or something, because he's a lot less fidgety when he has something to do with his hands, and he's shitty at keeping hydrated too. “No thanks, I think my head has been messed with enough.”

 

“Your call,” Derek says, and hands him a coke. “So what _do_ you want? Here to ask me on another date?”

 

He's mostly joking, but Stiles fumbles the soda, and almost drops it. “Uhm. Would it be super awkward if I... did? Ask you on a date, I mean.”

 

His heart is going into overdrive, so Derek doesn't doubt for a second that it's sincere, but it still takes him a few seconds to respond, because it did come out of nowhere.

 

Except for how it really, really didn't.

 

“No. Maybe a _little_ awkward, but I think that's just your natural state,” he quips, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Jackass. So... if I did ask. Would you say yes?”

 

There's no way around an honest answer this time, so Derek wipes the grin off his face and meets Stiles' eyes. “Yes. But...”

 

Stiles tenses, and Derek wants to reassure him somehow, but there's no way around it. If this is gonna be a thing, then this is the only way it can happen.

 

“The thing is,” Derek continues. “If we do... date. Then it would be my first date with someone I trust since... ever, possibly. I'm not even sure I know how. I might fuck up.”

 

“Dude, you're talking to the king of fucking up, here. That's just an occupational risk of being me,” Stiles says cheerfully, but Derek knows he doesn't mean it entirely as a joke.

 

“All the more reason to make sure you know what you're getting into. I'm kind of a mess.”

 

“I know. Me too.”

 

“I might push you away,” Derek warns, and Stiles just nods.

 

“Ditto.”

 

Derek frowns. “I feel like you're not taking this seriously.”

 

Stiles holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I am, I swear. But, like... if we do date, wouldn't it just be doing the same we've been doing for a while, only with the option of... I dunno, handholding and kissing?”

 

“There's a lot more chance of hurt.”

 

There's not a hint of doubt in Stiles' face or a blip in his heart. “I'll risk it.”

 

It feels like it should be wrong to get butterflies over two fuck-ups meeting in the middle, but Stiles' determination is flattering, and Derek is just weak.

 

“Okay. Okay, but... can we just maybe... go slow?”

 

“We can do slow. But I gotta warn ya, no one resists all of this for long,” Stiles says with a grin, and sweeps a hand down his own body. “So don't feel bad when you can't keep your hands off me,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows, and Derek can't help but snort out an ugly laugh.

 

“Sure, Stiles. Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Despite all the joking they do go slow. A lot more dates happen – now actually being referred to as such. A few breakdowns in communication also happen, but they're fixed, and then yet more dates happen.

 

Stiles apparently interprets “ _going slow_ ” as “ _let Derek make every single move_ ”, so it takes a long time for things to progress at all, even just to holding hands, because Derek is still so very scared of fucking things up.

 

But it turns out that holding hands isn't nearly as scary as Derek had thought, which by simple logic makes him wonder if a kiss would be so bad.

 

And when he finally makes that next move, not too long after, Stiles grins at him and squeezes his hand. “Told ya you wouldn't be able to resist for long,” he says, and Derek groans at him, falling back into the couch.

 

“You are not cute.”

 

“Lies. And lying to the man who bought you dinner is just rude, Derek. I don't care how great you look in that dress, you're not getting away with it,” Stiles says, plopping down next to him, close enough that Derek can feel the heat of his thigh through the silky fabric of said dress.

 

“I _do_ look great in this dress,” Derek agrees, smoothing his skirt over his legs. “And I _will_ get away with it.”

 

“You're very sure of yourself. Just goes to show what a good Stilinski smooch can do.”

 

Derek narrows his eyes. “Was that an invitation to go lay one on your dad?”

 

It's hilarious how Stiles chokes on air and waves his arms around. “No! No, are you- _no!_ ” he cries, and Derek gives in to the laugh that's been bubbling under his skin for a while already.

 

Stiles goes abruptly from offended to kinda gooey, and watches Derek with soft eyes. “This is why. This is why I started the whole dress date thing. I wanna see this all the time.”

 

The laughter dies down, but Derek still feels like he's bursting with something. Words love to fail him at crunch time, though, so instead he leans in for another kiss, this one slower and longer, and Stiles seems to understand.

 

“Don't you dare kiss my dad,” he says the second they part, and Derek laughs again.

 

Yes. This is why.

 

End.

 

 


End file.
